


Heaven or Las Vegas

by coeurastronaute



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/F, Married in Vegas AU, Quickly, Strangers to Lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-30
Updated: 2017-08-31
Packaged: 2018-12-21 14:26:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11946168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coeurastronaute/pseuds/coeurastronaute
Summary: ModernAU Clexa. Clarke and Lexa are strangers and they go with their friends to their wedding and stag nights Las Vegas. The next day they both wake up in the same bed horribly hung over and… married.





	1. Chapter 1

The only things she could feel was how dry her mouth was and how hard her eyes were knit shut. Barring that, it took a moment for consciousness to seep into her existence. It spread slow and steady and with terrible results. Her head throbbed, actually, her brain throbbed, causing her head to feel as if it were ready to explode at any moment in a small little pop that no one would notice at all. Eyes remaining shut, Clarke tested her mouth, swallowed and felt the warm kind of pain ache through her stomach. Breathing hurt, moving hurt, so she remained still and tried to remember where she was or who she was or what she was, but even thinking was painful. 

Every movement made her muscles burn, as if they’d been laid out and stretched apart. Her skin, in spots, felt broken, felt that twinge and hurt of scratches and bruises. Nothing, not one movement, went unfelt or didn’t cause some kind of pain and leaked and reeked of absolute alcohol from some direction. 

It took a few minutes once she opened her eyes for Clarke to recognize the ceiling, to find some sort of center because the world felt like it was still spinning and all she could do was hold on and hope it would stop soon.

The groan beside her left her startled, and Clarke turned her head too quickly, and shivered with the jolt of nausea in her bones. A mass of brown hair moved slightly and another groan was stifled as the other occupant of the bed dug their face into the pillow. 

Realization came slow, but once it came, it hit her like a dropped piano. It came with her butt hitting the ground as she fell out of bed, tugging the sheet with her. Sprawled out on the floor, she held her breath and realized she was naked and thanks to the tug of the sheet, she saw that the girl in her bed was as well. 

Peering over the edge, Clarke gulped and felt her brain swirl. There was a back covered in tattoos, ink dipping and slipping along the contours of bones and muscles, right there in her bed. Only, she looked around the room and felt a hiccup, it wasn’t her room. She was the stranger in someone’s bed. She was the stranger next to that other naked stranger. Too much naked and too much stranger in all of the equations.

With a half-dead kind of yowl, the body in the bed moved again, and Clarke found herself scooting away, clutching the sheet to her chest. It was all too much for her at that moment, and the only concrete thought that seemed to cut through the fog, through the ache and the need to throw up, through the smell of the bar she must have drained that was now seeping from her pores, was the instinctual need to leave, to run, to escape. Like a wild animal, Clarke’s singular impulse was to flee and recoup at a later date. 

It was slow going, trying to find her clothes, trying to stand, but Clarke began the task at hand, wrapping the hotel sheet around her and occasionally covering her mouth. The light from the sunny day outside was beginning to slip in under the curtain that was pulled tight, though still provided enough light to search for any remnants of clothes. 

She wanted to think about the events of the night that led to this moment, but Clarke’s head could only concentrate on approximately zero things at one time, and right now she was overloading it with the game of hide and seek with her bra. 

So wholly was Clarke invested in finding what she thought she remembered wearing, that she didn’t even notice the general state of consciousness happening just as slowly as her’s had, on the bed. 

“Am I dead?” the voice rasped through a dry mouth. 

“Holy hell,” Clarke jumped, bumping her back against the dresser behind her, startled at the noise. 

“I’m naked,” they realized on the bed, rolling over and looking down, squinting with one eye open. 

“I’m just… looking for clothes,” Clarke averted her eyes. 

“What happened?” 

“We drank. A lot.” 

“Yeah,” the girl nodded, pulling a stray pillow to cover herself as best she could. “That I can deduce on my own.” 

“You’re Anya’s maid of honor, aren’t you?” 

“Lexa.” 

“Right.” 

“You’re Bellamy’s best man, right?” 

“Clarke.” 

With an awkward movement, the blonde reached forward across the bed and held out her hand to the girl covered in only a pillow. She watched the confused brunette smirk and shake her hand. 

“So last night… we…” Lexa cleared her throat and ran her hand through her hair as Clarke backed away, still firmly keeping the sheet tucked against her. 

“Looks like it.” 

The two sat in the hotel room, orbiting, fluctuating around the other while they attempted to both remember and think of what was to come next. So stuck were they in the present, torn between the road already taken and the fork they now reached, that they remained motionless and stunted.

“We still have a few hours before the events of the day. Do you want me to order some food? Coffee? Industrial-sized pack of aspirin?” 

“I should head… out…” Clarke leaned over and picked up her dress, somewhat victorious at the find. 

“Right, right,” Lexa nodded, looking for her phone on the nightstand. “You couldn’t toss me something to put on beside this pillow, could you?” 

“Right! Yeah!” Clarke kept nodding, turning around much too quickly and regretting it, though she hid that and dug in the suitcase by the dresser. “Sorry, here.” 

“Thanks,” Lexa smiled slightly and pulled the shirt over her head after it was tossed across the bed. “I think these are yours,” she held up a pair of underwear from under another pillow as she moved. 

“I’m just going to…” Clarke inched towards the bathroom after snatching the clothing. “I’ll put this on in there…” 

“You sure I can’t order you something?” 

“I’m fine. I really should be going,” the blonde called from the bathroom as Lexa lifted the receiver and called down for sustenance to get her through this evil curse self-inflicted on her body. 

With the water running, Lexa hung up after ordering and took stock of her morning. She closed her eyes and dug her fingertips into the corners of her eyes, ran her palms along her face. Brief glimpses of the night flashed in non-sequential, unhelpful order with every blink. 

There was one thing Anya asked of her for this extended weekend. Lexa laughed her off when she even mentioned that there would be any sort of tampering within the wedding party. It was that kernel, though, that absently mentioned gauntlet that led to this moment, Lexa decided. That and a bar full of whiskey. That and too many glasses of champagne. 

The noise her phone made when she unlocked it was too much. it made her eyes hurt from deep within their sockets. Her entire body hurt at every noise and movement, but she had Maid of Honor duties to perform. 

No new texts greeted her. Nothing out of the ordinary, and for that she was thankful. The less evidence, the better. 

“Should we… you know…” Clarke emerged from the bathroom, hair tied up, dress back on and towel in her hands, wiping at her face. “Talk about what happened?” 

“I honestly am politely waiting for you to leave so I can cry and vomit in the shower.” 

“I’m glad I’m not the only one,” the blonde chuckled.

“Not that it wasn’t fun. I’m sure it was. When the memories come back, I’ll know for sure, but you look like a good-” 

“I just wanted to make sure we agree that last night never happened.” 

“Right,” Lexa swallowed and nodded. “Never happened.”

“Okay then,” Clarke nodded in agreement. “I should go. Back to my room.” 

“Right.” 

“Alright,” she clapped her hands gently and nodded, firming herself. “I’ll just. Be going.” 

“I’m sure I’ll see you around.” 

“Right.”

“Bye, Clarke.” 

“Bye.” 

When the door closed behind her, Clarke could feel the burn of her cheeks. If her mind could concentrate on more than zero things at a time, she might have worried about how embarrassing the morning had been already. But thankfully, her insides felt like they were rotting, and that took precedent.

* * *

The details came in the shower. As the warm water ran over her skin, as it found places that stung and burned, each new ache triggered it all, added to the layers of foggy memories from the past eight hours. 

Lexa braced her arms on the wall of the shower after a generous helping of fruit and aspirin and juice. She had to, or else the world would keep spinning unless she was rooted firmly. She didn’t have time to waste in the shower, but still she couldn’t bring herself to move. Anya would just have to accept her tardiness in favor of not smelling like she felt.

The water was cool, felt good to calm her stomach, felt good against the apparent scratches on her shoulders and back. And in flashes, as water slid down her spine and found those fallow tracts plowed by a certain blondes fingernails, Lexa remembered the elevator where they got indecent, remembered a moment in the bar when Clarke tasted like tequila, remembered a noiseless moan in the bed. 

With a sigh, she lifted her head and let the water wash over her face, waking her and making her live. She never drank. Never. Not ever. Very rarely. On special occasions. It was Anya’s fault. The making her promise not to sleep with any of Bellamy’s family and then the plying her with alcohol because she thought it’d be funny. It was a lethal combination. 

Lexa tried not think think of all of it, as the thoughts just traipsed around in her head like lumbersome, cumbersome children in the glass aisle of a department store, knocking over this and that, stumbling and bumbling until the noise was too much. 

The details came in the shower as Lexa ran her hands over her face and felt something against her face. And she pulled them away and stared at her left as if it weren’t her own, as if she never recognized it before at all. And she backed away, as if she could flee from it, as if it wouldn’t follow. She raised it, stared at it there, moved it closer and stuttered when she went to touch the ring on her finger. She moved her hand closer to her face and appraised it. 

The details were an explosion when she touched it, when she tentatively wiggled the ring on her fingers. Fear squeezed her lungs until they couldn’t fill at all, though she couldn’t spare one ounce of brainpower to such things as breathing. 

She proposed in front of the fountains. Mostly on a dare, and mostly because a tapper was handing out cards with little rings on them for some strip club. And there was a crowd there that applauded the inebriated event so that Clarke had to say yes. There was a chunk missing between the fountain and the chapel, but Lexa remembered the way Clarke looked coming down the aisle. 

In a rather terrified move, Lexa slid down the wall of the shower and stared at her hand, still, jaw slack and brow furrowed, attempting to remember anything else that could explain what led her to this exact moment.

* * *

“I’m not late,” Clarke huffed as she sprinted into the lobby, sliding half a foot as she tried to stop herself. She swallowed and tried to hide the remnants of nausea still lingering in her muscles. “I’m not late,” she panted, catching her breath beside her friend and his sister.

“God, you’re a mess,” Octavia frowned and appraised the bent over girl who looked as if she was about to be sick right there. 

“No, I’m fine. I’m right on time and sober,” Clarke argued, lifting herself up, tilting her head back and trying to catch her breath. 

“You… is that you that smells?” 

“No. I showered. Twice,” Clarke insisted as she sniffed and found more alcohol in her pores. She stuck with her word though. “Are we ready for the day?” 

“Don’t do that,” Bellamy glared at her. 

“Do what?” 

“Make a big deal.” 

“It’s the day before your wedding. I think I’m well within my right to make some sort of reasonably sized deal.” 

“It is you,” Octavia sniffed again. “You smell like an old bottle of beer. 

“We’re shopping today, right?” Clarke gave her a look and looked back at her friend. “Shopping, setting out the tuxes, rehearsal dinner. Got a big day before the big day.” 

“You don’t have to act all gung-ho about it,” Bellamy shook his head. 

“I don’t know what best men do. I’m trying to be the best wo-man, and all of the books and articles I’ve read said I have to keep your spirits up, but keep you calm.” 

“You did research?” Octavia stared at the disaster, earning another glare. 

“What happened to you last night?” 

“Are we going to stand around all day or are we going to get busy?” Clarke grinned, wide and wild and half-crazed. Behind it was still a dizziness and a constant feeling of being hydrated despite the turkey-like way she tried to drown and chug while she showered just a little ago. 

“You’re acting weird,” Octavia shook her head. 

“No way.” 

“Let’s just go,” Bellamy finally decided. “I’ve been racking my brain trying to think of something to get her. Who gets their bride a present? I’m the present. The marriage is the present. You know what I mean?” 

“I do,” Clarke nodded, stopping in her tracks as she had begun to follow Bellamy towards the door and all of that bright, bright, Nevada sunlight that would probably blind her dulled senses. 

Afraid because she already knew the answer, Clarke looked down at her hand, the hustle and bustle of the hotel lobby fading into nothing. 

“Clarke, let’s go!” Bellamy called, turning around and realizing he’d been talking to a best man that wasn’t there. 

“Coming,” Clarke muttered, her feet moving as her eyes stared at the offending ring. She attempted to pull it off, but it was stuck, so she rooted her hand in her pocket and caught up with her friends. The entirety of it felt as if she’d been on autopilot. There was no brainpower left for the hand in her pocket.

* * *

The wedding was to be a grand affair. The only daughter of a land developer who put everyone up in one of his hotels right on the Strip. The ballrooms were rented, the deposits made, everything already prepared for the next day. 

The rehearsal dinner was slightly toned down, or at least as toned down as he could allow it. After a day of pampering and putting up with whatever Anya wanted, after spending every spare second contemplating the events of the previous night, after avoiding as many questions as she could, after spending a full twenty minutes pacing and preparing for both her speech and her inevitable run in with Clarke, Lexa was ready to ditch it all completely and throw herself from the Hoover Dam. Instead she resigned herself to mingling with Anya’s family in hopes of hiding.

“Can I steal her for a second?” the blonde appeared during the mingling, gently tugging on Lexa’s elbow despite her insistence that she was preoccupied with some distant aunt who was mid story. 

“You have quite a grip.” 

“What’s this?” Clarke held up her hand then lowered it quickly, looking around the room and attempting to be discreet. 

“Your hand?” Lexa grinned, though it stopped when she earned a look that sobered her quickly. 

“This!” Clarke yelped, looking around again and realizing she’d earned a few glances. She tugged Lexa once more through a side door that led to a deserted hallway. “What did we do last night?” 

“Drank too much tequila.”

“I can’t get this off. Did we…?” Clarke swallowed, once more attempting to get the ring from her finger. 

“I think so,” Lexa nodded. 

“Why?”

“You must have had a crush on me.” 

“I had too much to drink.” 

“Your vows, though slurred, said you fell in love with me the moment you saw me.” 

“I was drunk!”

“You were sober enough to leave bruises all over me.” 

“This is serious.” 

“I agree! I don’t even know what we wrote on the papers! Is my last name hyphened now? Did I take yours?” Lexa listed while Clarke huffed one last time and gave up on getting the ring from her finger. 

“As soon as the wedding is over, we are going to figure this out.” 

“The city offices won’t open til Monday,” Lexa agreed. “You didn’t have any of the papers in your purse?” 

“Nothing.”

“You know… maybe you should stop by my room later,” Lexa grinned. “Since we’re married and all.” 

“Lexa,” Clarke warned, shaking her head. “This is serious.” 

“I’m being serious. We got married, we might as well as get to know each other.” 

“Why?” 

“I don’t know. Why not? What do you have to lose?” 

For a long moment, Clarke thought about it.

* * *

“How are you not freaking out about this?” Clarke sighed as the sheets around her hips moved. “We got drunk and got married. After knowing each other for twenty-four hours!” 

Her body moved of its own accord, responding to the urges despite the words coming out of her mouth. 

“I mean it. I’ve been losing my mind all day.” 

“I can do one thing at a time,” Lexa lifted the sheet. “We can talk about my ability to maintain calm and not fret over this thing we have no control over until tomorrow. Or. I can make you come. Your choice.” 

“My wife, ladies and gentlemen,” Clarke smiled, looking around the empty hotel room. 

She felt lips on her thigh, felt hands on her hips. 

“Well, what is it, Mrs. Woods?” 

Clarke didn’t answer. She pulled the sheet over Lexa’s head.

* * *

“We have to tell them,” Clarke shook her head and promptly groaned, covered her face with her hands, and regrouped. 

“The judge said six months,” Lexa stirred her coffee before licking the straw and watching the display across from her. 

“Because you told him we’d consummated the marriage!” 

“I wasn’t going to lie about it.” 

“You didn’t have to tell him how many times.” 

“I wanted it on the record.” 

“There was no record!” Clarke shook her head again and huffed, only amusing Lexa further. “And now we have to tell our best friends that we got drunk and got married before them on their wedding weekend.”

“We don’t have to tell them.” 

“How do we get around it?” 

“Maybe we can just say we hit it off and you find me irresistible and had to date me,” Lexa shrugged, eyeing the blonde as she took a sip of her coffee. “I’m just spit balling here though.” 

“Oh my God,” Clarke sighed. “I’m married.” 

“So far it’s been going well. We should go on a honeymoon or something.” 

“How are you so okay with this?” 

“I don’t know. I’ve reached a weird state of zen. It must be alcohol poisoning or this city,” Lexa confessed. “But I’ve given up to the ways of the world.” 

“How? How do you do it?” 

“I don’t know. Honestly, I’m kind of on this downward spiral of self-imposed recklessness. Before I came out here, I quit my job. I was just miserable and sick of it. So I don’t know what I want to do now. I broke up with my girlfriend of three years because I just couldn’t stand not being happy, like honestly happy. You know? I just. I haven’t felt happy in so long. So now, I’m just… chasing some kind of happy.” 

“Oh God,” Clarke moaned again resting her face in her palms. “I married an unemployed drifter.” 

“Yeah you did.” 

“You’re on this magnificent journey of self-fulfilment and I am a starving artist with control issues. This should go well.”

“Is this our first fight, darling?” Lexa smirked. 

“I just need to get this straight,” Clarke sat up, straightening her spine and nodding to herself. “You want to just go along with this. To just… try out this marriage?”

“Sure.”

“Our best friends have dated for literally like six years and just got married. I did six tequila shots with you.” 

“We have the rest of our lives or at least the next six months to figure out if we want this or not.”

“Tequila and sex. That’s what this is based off of, you know that right?” Clarke shook her head again. 

“We might need to embellish a bit for the kids.”


	2. Chapter 2

The city was absolutely dripping, soaked through to the bones with the rain that refused to stop after days and days and days. The bay itself seemed wetter than normal, while streets and shoes and welcome mats never got a chance to dry. Instead, the sidewalks and streetlights and window sills remained soggy fixtures in need of a good squeeze and sunshine. 

The water-logged inhabitants didn’t notice after the fourth day, they just seemed to collectively think they’d all fabricated the sunshine, and it never actually existed. Instead, they resigned themselves to becoming aquatic, and perhaps one day even getting gills. 

Though she knew the forecast was rain and rain and more rain, Clarke found herself woefully without an umbrella as she gathered her bag to leave work for the day. The sun, though hidden behind clouds, had long since gone, and despite the late hour, the rain was still raging, coming down in giant buckets until the lights bled like wet paint, streaking the roads and windows. 

Shouldering her bag, Clarke sighed and grabbed a paper from the lobby of the building before nodding a goodnight to the security guard and venturing out into the storm. 

It was the perfect end to a long day, she decided as she felt the cold wetness seep into her clothing before she made it a block. Her stomach rumbled and she shivered, huffing as she climbed the hill. On a normal day, it was a nice enough walk from work to home. She passed a few bars, some she grew to know intimately, she got to cut through the park, the nice coffee guy on the corner in the mornings. But now, with the sky falling and clouds wringing themselves out to nothing, not a soul could be found, not a light was on, and she felt infinitely alone. 

It was the perfect end to a long day. 

Her proposals and presentations had been shot down by the clients, her work fell behind trying to re-do them quickly, and for the life of her, the soggy, moist Clarke could only think of one thing she wanted at the moment. 

“Hello?” A muffled voice came through the phone. Clarke gave up shielding herself with the paper. The voice was still sex despite the fact that it was rooted and hidden deep in the pillow and laced with sleep. 

“I’m sorry, am I waking you?” the artist asked, checking her watch and realizing that it was well into morning on the other side of the country. 

“No,” the voice coughed and grumbled. The distinct sound of sheets rustling told of her lie. “I’m always up at… four in the morning.” 

“Are you? I never would have guessed.” 

“You know me. Eager beaver and what not.” 

“I feel like there’s a euphemism in there somewhere.” 

“Exactly.” 

Clarke smiled and pulled her coat a little tighter despite the cold that snuck in purely because of the rain. She didn’t even care if her phone ran the risk of a puddle, or if her hair would be a mess. Suddenly, the rain and the weather wasn’t terrible. 

“You know I’m kidding right,” Lexa yawned. “You definitely woke me. Care to tell me why, Mrs. Woods?” 

“Why do you have to call me that?” 

“Because it sounds sexy as hell. And it’s true.” 

“And there goes the honeymoon period.” 

“Our honeymoon period is our dating period.”

“Soon to be followed by the divorce period.” 

“That’s what you think,” Lexa sassed with a chuckle, making Clarke grin at the notion. “Seriously. What’s up, babe?” 

“Nothing,” Clarke lied. 

“You missed me,” the girl on the other end sang. 

“No.” 

“Yeah.” 

“It was a shitty day at work,” the artist finally relented. “Just. It was very long and I did miss you. I wanted to hear your voice. So go ahead and mock me or whatever.” 

“Now why would I mock you for that?” Lexa softened. “I’d be worried if you didn’t. I miss you like crazy.” 

“Good. As it should be.” 

“Do you want to tell me about it?” 

“No,” Clarke decided, fiddling with her keys as she reached her building. “Tell me about your day.”

“Well, my dad had me working in the office today since I’m still the underachieving black sheep of the family. I sent a few dirty pictures to my wife. Had sushi for lunch,” Lexa listed nonchalantly. “Dinner with my mom who gave me another talk about doing what I must over what I love. Drinks with a few friends. Bed by midnight. Woken up by said wife at four.” 

“Quite a day,” Clarke sighed, tossing her wet coat on the hook and after kicking off her wet boots, attempting to peel wet pants from her wet thighs. 

“Not much happening out of the usual.” 

“I like the part about the dirty pictures. Not opposed to that happening more often, not going to lie.” 

“See, being my wife has perks.” 

“Do you really miss me?” Clarke ventured, stripping as she walked down the hall towards her room, not bothering to turn on any lights. She collapsed in her bed a few seconds later.

“Yeah. I like getting to know you.”

“You think we have a chance?” 

“Yeah. I really do,” Lexa answered, her voice quiet and thoughtful. Clarke liked that voice, when Lexa was calm and steady. 

“I’m sorry I woke you.” 

“What else am I here for?” 

“Probably not four a.m. phone calls.” 

“Nah,” Lexa yawned again. “That’s exactly it.” 

“Should I let you sleep?” 

“Just a couple more minutes of this.” 

Clarke grinned as she rolled over in her bed. The sheets felt warm and cozy against her skin after the walk through the rain. While the day itself had been horrendous, she found the past few minutes had erased it all from beneath her skin until she had been washed anew in the weather.

* * *

“I planned on taking you to dinner,” Lexa chuckled, knotting her hand in her hair as she tried to catch her breath. She swallowed and took a deep gasp of air to satisfy her lungs before turning her head to look dreamily at the blonde beside her who was in much the same state. 

“You didn’t put up much of a fight when I pulled you into my bed,” Clarke grinned, hand running over her eyes, chest rising and falling with each breath. 

“These are the kind of welcomes I could get used to, and all I had to do was show up out of nowhere. Do you welcome every unexpected guest like this?” she asked, sitting up in bed, throwing her legs over the side of it. Clarke watched Lexa’s back, watched the ink on her spine move in the dim light cast through the sheer curtains by the orange street lights. 

“You said I only got 24 hours with you. I have to make the most if it.” 

“What are we going to do if I get the job, Mrs. Woods?” Lexa turned just her head, speaking over her shoulder. Clarke wanted to pull her neck, root her hand in that messy hair and kiss her senseless again, but her muscles were composed of jello. 

“Do you think you’ll take it?” 

“I didn’t fly across the country just to see you.” 

“Could have fooled me.” 

“The job is exactly what I’ve been looking for, and I’d love it. You’re a bonus.” 

“Certainly would mean we really have to make a go of it,” Clarke nodded, deathly afraid of this conversation, but knowing full well the hours were dwindling and it needed to happen face to face as opposed to over the phone. 

“Only four months left for me to convince you not to divorce me,” Lexa smirked, pulling on her underwear and moving out of the bed. 

Clarke just watched, propping herself up on her elbows to see the sight of Lexa walking, nearly naked, down her hall in the almost dark. Watched her turn on the light in the kitchen and push her hair once more from her face. With an audible sigh, Clarke flopped back in bed, once again paralyzed by the realization that the most successful relationship she’d ever had was exactly two months long and started with a tequila-infused wedding at a quickie chapel on the Vegas strip. 

“Well, how did it go?” she ventured, pulling on an old shirt and following the noises coming from the kitchen. “We never got to really talk.” 

“How do you survive? There’s nothing in here,” Lexa complained, ferreting through the fridge. 

“My wife showed up at my work and distracted me,” Clarke taunted, pulling herself up on her counter. “I had errands to run, you know? You didn’t give me much warning.” 

“Still. This really makes me worried. We are going shopping tomorrow before I leave.” 

“I think it’s sexy when you’re bossy,” the blonde relented, pulling her shirt down over her knees in the cold. “But don’t make a habit of it.” 

“Believe me,” Lexa chuckled. “I have no inkling of thinking I could try to control you, princess.” 

“So long as that’s sorted. Rule number one for a happy marriage and such.” 

“Happy wife, happy life,” the mock chef agreed, rummaging through the cupboard. 

“I can order out, you know.” 

“That’ll take forever, and I still have…” she gazed at the clock on the stove. “I still have about fourteen hours here, all filled with plans for you.” 

“This is just fuel then.” 

“Exactly.”

“Tell me about the interview. We didn’t get to talk much,” Clarke tried again, stealing a grape from the bunch Lexa pulled from the fridge as the other began to move around, preparing what looked like sandwiches. 

“It went well, I think. I can be impressive at times.” 

“I have no doubt of that. Isn’t it the same as the job you quit before?” 

“Yes, essentially.” 

“So what makes it appealing? And don’t you dare say proximity.” 

“Honestly, I applied before I knew where it was,” Lexa promised, spreading jelly deftly on the bread she’d pulled from the cupboard. “But my other job was with my parents, and I was unhappy, and this is for a non-profit and it’s so cool and I’m just… I’m really excited about it.” 

“I’ve never seen you like this,” Clarke nudged her chin as she popped another grape. 

“What?” 

“Nervous. Hopeful. It’s endearing.” 

“Yeah, well,” Lexa shrugged, handing half the sandwich to the girl on the counter. “We’ll see how it goes.”

“And you’d be happy… to move in with me? I mean… that’s what you’d want?” Clarke asked, refusing to look up as she spoke. 

“Yeah. I mean, how else are we going to get to know each other?” 

“People will think it’s… I mean it is crazy,” Clarke shook her head, taking a bite and covering her mouth as Lexa leaned against the other side of the counter, happily eating. “They’re going to say that we don’t know each other, and that we shouldn’t, and we’ll break up, and we’ll regret it, and I don’t know. It’s just silly, isn’t it? We’ve known each other for two months.” 

“So?” 

“Don’t you see how insane it is?” 

“I honestly don’t care what anyone says,” Lexa shrugged again. “We’ll either make it or we’ll get a divorce, but at the end of the day, if those are the two outcomes, why not try for happiness, right?” 

“Life isn’t like that. There’s so many more… There’s so much more that could happen. It’s so random.” 

“I don’t have to move in with you.” 

“I don’t half ass anything,” Clarke smirked. “I’m not going to let you be the cool, I’ll-try-anything one in this relationship. I just have reservations about what we’re going to have to hear, and my only answer to my mother screaming at me about moving in with a stranger is going to be ‘why not?’.” 

“I may not get the job,” Lexa reminded her. “And then it won’t matter.” 

“That’s true. I can always hope for that,” the blonde shared a smile with the topless girl in her kitchen. 

For a moment they were quiet, and the rain started. The window became a high hat as they chewed and thought about the things Clarke worried through. Both didn’t like the conversation, but the short visit meant that they didn’t have many options if they wanted to have it face to face. Clarke chewed and wondered when she became a person that went along with things like this. Lexa furrowed her brow and felt choked by words. 

The rain came harder, came louder, filling up the small room with a small breeze that left both the scantily clad women with a small shiver. It was late into the night, and the storm that brewed on the bay came with a vengeance while the city slept. Not one soul would know about if the two had been asleep. 

“My brother died,” Lexa finally muttered, sick of being unable to swallow. She hadn’t said that sentence in too long. It was still fresh in her vocabulary and a fact she did not willingly reflect upon. “Two years ago. My brother died.” 

“I’m sorry…” Clarke looked up only to see Lexa furrowed and staring at the crust she picked from the bread and slipped in her mouth as she nodded. 

“Do you know the odds of my brother getting brain cancer? Or the odds of it being so aggressive? Or the odds that a perfectly healthy guy would be diagnosed terminal and dead in less than six months?” 

“No.” 

“But he was. He got sick, and I took a year off. We did a tour. We traveled all over. He called it his Death Tour,” Lexa smiled at the morbid joke. “My brother, three years out of school, one year into working with my father, got cancer and died. I don’t care about odds. Odds mean absolutely nothing to me.” 

“You said you were sick of being unhappy,” Clarke remembered, watching Lexa finally nod take a bite, relieved to having said it and get rid of those words. “When we first met. That’s what you said.” 

“Yeah. Watching someone die can take a toll.” 

“I get it.” 

“All that I mean is that I married you in Vegas and I’m happy. Whatever people say won’t bother me. Healthy people get cancer and that’s all I know anymore. There is no rhyme or reason to things. Dating for two years or an evening of tequila. What does it matter?” 

“Come here,” Clarke smiled, pulling on barely clothed hips. She spread her legs and let her hands run up Lexa’s ribs and back before grabbing hips once more. 

“He would have liked you,” Lexa murmured, chewing softly, refusing to look at the girl who was holding her. 

“You want to live with me?” 

“I married you. Seems like a natural step.” 

“I’m not some… coping mechanism, am I?” 

“I’ve coped,” Lexa grinned. “Everyone likes saying they’d live like they were dying, but no one ever does, and then they see someone who lives without being miserable, and its something that supposed to be diagnosed and medicated.” 

“I’m sorry.” 

“He would have loved the story about our wedding.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Oh yeah. I will catch hell from my parents, but Danny would have been smiling at the other side of the table.”

“Thank you for telling me,” Clarke kissed her cheek, lingering there and moving to the next. Lexa ate the rest of her half of the peanut butter and jelly sandwich. “It seems like something I should know.”

“I don’t talk about him much. I should do it more. It makes me happy,” Lexa realized, earning another kiss on her neck. 

“Maybe you won’t get the job,” Clarke remembered. 

“Exactly.”

“You have crumbs on your boobs,” the blonde observed, gently brushing them. 

“Sweet talker.” 

“You want to know the worst part of all this?” 

“We’d need a new place because my stuff won’t fit in here.” 

“I believe in ‘til death does us part,” Clarke whispered. “In a chapel on the strip or a cathedral. I always thought I could believe in that.” 

“We have four months to figure it out.” 

Lexa ran her hand along Clarke’s chest, up her neck, over her shoulder, deep into her hair. She grinned and chased Clarke’s lips, running a spare hand along her thigh. 

“And a few more hours.”

* * *

The apartment on 3rd was a small state of affairs over an old suit store that’d been around for almost six generations, but Lexa liked it. It was long, it was skinny, and it was what she could vaguely afford. She tossed her keys on the table by the door, and she tossed her coat and bag on the floor, carefully avoiding her bike placed precariously against the wall, all before reaching the actual studio portion. 

There wasn’t much to it. Her bike took up most of the hall. The bathroom was almost uninhabitable, but there was a shower and that was good enough. The kitchen was a counter and skinny stove with a single sink. The rest was mostly bed and an old chair rescued from a street corner from her favourite bar. It was Lexa’s, though. Her own. And that was important. 

From her window, light streamed through from the city across the water. Her neighbour next door had his music up too loud so that her picture shook a little in the frame. 

The trip was long from the other coast. The plane made her antsy, though she was glad to be home. Lexa opened the fridge and rolled her shoulder, stretching the kinds from her muscles after grabbing a bottle of water. 

“You should really get your lock fixed, Alexandra,” a voice accompanied a light turning on behind her. With a small growl, Lexa closed the fridge and turned to find her mother sitting in the old chair in the corner. 

“Very dramatic, Mom.” 

“I mean honestly. Brooklyn,” the woman in the chair shook her head, carefully adjusting her leg and the purse in her lap. “I don’t think anyone from our family has lived below 59th in decades. Do you know how long it took me to get down here?” 

“You could have called. I would have met you somewhere,” Lexa ignored her comments, leaning against the counter and crossing her arms. 

“You know we’ve been waiting for you to come to dinner,” she said, standing and surveying the room. “You and your father may be arguing or whatever this tiff is between you–”

“He wants me to take Danny’s spot. I’m not him,” Lexa shrugged. “I don’t want it, and Dad doesn’t stop to–”

“Your father is a busy man.” 

“I know. I remember the song and dance from when I was six. It’s been the same song you’ve been singing for years.” 

“You know what, Alexandra,” the mother sighed, shaking her head. “I’m the one who gets to be disappointed in you, this time. I know we’ve failed you as parents, or so you like to think and remind us, but it isn’t your turn.” 

“Same as every other day, right?” 

“I have never been disappointed in you. Disagreed with your choices, quite often,” she admitted. “But never have I been not proud or disappointed, and you know that.” 

There were those who said Lexa looked like her mother. Sometimes she saw it, but the truth of it was she took after her father more. Had his slender cheeks and long neck, high brow, penchant for being broody and furrowed, as well as predominantly emotionally unavailable. But she had her mother’s eyes, and that was a lot, sometimes. 

“You’ll have to clarify. I’m sure there’s a few dozen things a day I do that you could be referencing,” Lexa sighed. 

She wasn’t the straight A student like her brother. She didn’t like school, didn’t have a mind for numbers like him. Lexa ran track, and ran it well. That was all she liked to do, and she was good, but it didn’t endear her to her parents at all, both Ivy League bred and socialite born. She didn’t dance well, like Danny. She didn’t like dresses. She was frequently caught with her hand in an associate of her father’s daughter’s pants. She was second in line. She was Prince Harry, and so the disappointment of her parents was softened by that fact. She was simply spirited and finding her way. 

But the look her mother gave her now was new, and it was hard to take for some reason. Maybe it was growing up. Maybe it was the hurt of it all. Maybe it was the guilt of not showing up to dinner. 

“But this,” the slender woman in the expensive dress put the folder on the small table between them. She flipped it open and pointed. “I thought, no matter what, you would at least…” There was hurt clouding her voice restricted by the anger that overpowered it. “Married. I have to find out from the corporate lawyer that my daughter. My only–” she paused and looked away for a moment. “My child. My child is married and I didn’t even get a text, an email.”

“Mom… this isn’t. It isn’t… It’s complicated,” Lexa stuttered. 

“I wasn’t aware that we hurt you, so badly, that you think you can’t tell us things, that you think we don’t want you,” the mother turned back to her daughter, makeup unmussed by tears she refused to let fall. “I have one child left, and she doesn’t want me. That is. I am just disappointed.” 

“I wanted to tell you,” Lexa tried, standing up straight and looking between the copy of the certificate and her mother. “But I just… Dad thinks I’m a joke enough. This would… I wanted to…” 

“You live in Brooklyn, Lexa, isn’t that punishment enough?” she pled. “I get it. You want to make your own way. I respect it. I don’t like it, but I at least understood and respected it. Hell, even your father respected you. He hates it, but he understood. This,” she nudged her head at the table. “We just can’t. What did we do to you, Lexa?” 

“Nothing,” the daughter shrugged again. 

“Your father has his work, you know? He has that,” she straightened her back and closed the folder. “You have your quiet rebellion, and we played the bad guys because it was what you needed. But what do I have?” 

“I don’t…”

“I have an empty home and a grave.”

“Mom.” 

“The lawyers will get in touch,” the mother took a step towards the door. “You can at least be responsible and get a postnuptial.” 

“Mom. Will you just…” Lexa stood in front of the door. Neither looked at the other. She didn’t know what to do, but Lexa couldn’t remember ever having such an honest conversation with her mother, not laden with sarcasm or anger. It was foreign, and they were an unfeeling bunch, the St. Clare-Woods brood, for what it was worth. 

The movement was foreign, at first, but Lexa followed through because she was well past the point of no return. She reached her arms out and hugged her mother, wrapping her arms completely around the petite woman who stood rigidly and surprised. 

It took longer than most, but eventually Vivienne St. Clare-Woods relaxed and managed to hug her daughter back. Soon enough, it was a genuine hug, both gripping tightly. 

“I’m sorry,” Lexa whispered against her mother’s shoulder. 

“You could at least wear something without holes in it, can’t you, Alexandra?” her mother whispered, rubbing her back, causing her daughter to laugh. 

“I bought it at a thrift shop.” 

“You’re going to put me in the ground at this rate,” her mother smiled before pulling away. She ran her hand along her daughter’s cheek, tucked her hair behind her ear. “You need a haircut.” 

“You haven’t criticized my tattoos yet,” Lexa offered. 

“I love you, you do know that, don’t you?” 

“I do, as best you can. I don’t make it easy.” 

“I’m sorry for behaving like that. You just… you know how to press our buttons,” her mother sighed. 

“No, no. It was nice to hear what you think. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I really didn’t, but it just happened.” 

“What were you thinking, Lexa?” 

With a shake of her head and exasperated blowing of her lips, Lexa simply shrugged. 

“What time is it?” she asked. 

“Nearly midnight.” 

“Do you have plans?” 

“I had to cancel. You took forever to get home.” 

“Come on,” Lexa dropped her hands and picked up her coat from the floor.

“Where?” 

“We both need a drink.” 

“I should–”

“We’ll need one if we want to talk about my wedding.”

“I can have Sam take us across the bridge-”

“I know a place,” Lexa grinned.

* * *

“I thought maybe like a car wash or something,” Clarke swallowed, adjusting her dress slightly, nervously, anxiously as she stood at the steps of the hotel, flanked by town cars and limousines. 

When Lexa asked her to be her date to the charity auction in her brother’s name, Clarke was honored. It felt heavy, felt important, felt for the first time like she was very much a part of her wife’s life. It also came with a difficult phone call to her own mother in which Clarke felt the need to divulge her little secret. Which was also followed by a few dozen phone calls that repeated themselves in the form of friends being completely stricken with her actions. 

But, nonetheless, Clarke was honored and surprised and downright intrigued by what it meant to be part of Lexa’s life. And so when she set up two interviews in the city on the long shot she’d move across the country to live with her wife, she made sure they encompassed the special night that Lexa was understandably tight lipped about after the initial inviting. 

“You’re cute,” Lexa grinned, hand on her wife’s hip. “There are still a lot of things we have to learn about each other.” 

“This dress is too much. You shouldn’t have,” Clarke worried. “I mean. It’s way nicer than anything I have.” 

“I feel like you’re still not understanding what I mean when I say that my family isn’t hurting for money,” Lexa smirked, finally leading Clarke up the steps. There were a few reporters there, cameras flashing. The entirety of the steps of the hotel was a circus. 

“I assumed it meant like… comfortable. Your dad runs the family business.” 

“Yeah,” Lexa chuckled, earning a stern look from the blonde on her arm. “I was underplaying the whole thing a bit, so as not to scare you.” 

“Well you have failed significantly.”

“Want a divorce?” 

“Soon enough.” 

With a roll of her eyes, Lexa led her wife into the party, with the guests from her childhood and the same players she remembered for years and years and other events. Every other day of the year, she stayed well far south of this section of the city, but today was different. 

For the bulk of the evening, Clarke was a good enough sport, enjoying the way Lexa made small talk by either lying outrageously and seeing what she could get away with, or by telling the utmost truth. Half of the conversations ended in laughter about a Vegas wedding that no one believed, while the other half believed their invitations were received and returned unable to attend, and gifts were promised to make up for missing the wedding, much to the confused faces of the guests. 

“You look like him,” Clarke observed during a few moments of peace she stole with her wife. The picture of Lexa’s brother, with her family, sat at one end of a silent raffle table. “I mean, you both look like trouble.” 

“Yeah,” Lexa nodded, resting her chin on Clarke’s shoulder. 

“You don’t have many pictures in your apartment,” the blonde observed. 

“Have you seen that thing? My mom has purses that are bigger.” 

“This is a nice thing you all do, for his memory.” 

“I just come for the booze.” 

“Stop that,” Clarke decided. “You’re allowed to feel some kind of way about tonight, and this, and all of it.” 

“You really are going to have fun meeting my family,” Lexa chuckled again. 

They snuck in four and a half dances, as well as managed a perusal of the options for the silent auction, with Lexa making obscene bets in her father’s name every so often. They sipped champagne and were relatively in their own world despite the swirling party and merriment surrounding them. 

It took well into the evening before Lexa found herself pulled away, leaving her wife to fend for herself in the middle of the shark tank. 

“I’ve been trying to make my way to you all evening,” a woman approached Clarke. “My daughter has kept you hidden away, all to herself.” 

“Mrs. Woods,” Clarke nodded, quickly swallowing the last of the second, or perhaps third glass of champagne. 

The woman was prettier than the picture led Clarke to believe, though that wasn’t to say she wasn’t stunning in the display. But in person, she had a way of carrying herself that defied photography. Lexa had the same colour hair, the same colour eyes, and though she’d refuse to admit it, the same confidence that sat squarely on her shoulders for all to notice. 

It was terrifying. 

“Mrs. Woods,” the woman extended her hand. “Seems we have the same name.” 

“Yeah,” Clarke nodded with a quick smile that disappeared quickly. 

“My daughter took me to a bar,” Vivienne took Clarke’s arm, wrapping them together and moving through the crowd. “About a month ago. It was wonderful. There was a gentleman with a tattoo right on his face who made the absolute best dirty martini I’ve ever had.” 

“She told me you both had a great time.” 

“She told me all about you. Wouldn’t shut up about you, which I found weird considering she’d only known you a few months, but nonetheless, she filled up an evening talking. I’ve never heard her speak so much. She was different.”

“Your daughter is… She is quickly becoming an important part of my life.” 

“One Mrs. Woods to another,” the mother patted Clarke’s arm. “They’re tough nuts to crack. Honey,” she ran her free arm along a gentleman’s tux. “I have someone I want to introduce you to.” 

When he turned around, Clarke recognized so much of Lexa in his face that it was startling. All at once, she could also see her personality, the reservedness that kept walls up, the austere manner in which she saw the world. It was all right there. 

“Clarke, this is my husband, Daniel Woods.” 

“Have you asked her about the postnuptial?” he said, not addressing Clarke at all. 

“Try again,” the mother warned. Clarke watched the exchange of glances between them. 

“It is nice to meet you,” he sighed, shaking his daughter-in-law’s hand. “Tomorrow, the lawyers are expecting you at the office.” 

“It’s… nice to meet you too,” Clarke managed. 

“Mom,” Lexa interrupted the somewhat niceties, half out of breath after realizing what was happening. “Dad.” 

“Alexandra,” her father nodded. “They will want pictures soon.” 

“Okay,” she nodded. “Clarke, you okay?” she whispered, earning just a small smile and nod. “I’m going to steal her. We’ll see you later.” 

“We should make plans for dinner sometime,” Vivienne offered. 

All too quickly, her daughter swept in and rescued her wife, making promises and nodding, ignoring her parents words as best she could. The mother slapped her husband’s chest and glared.

While she found herself swept up into introductions despite the words she was hoarding for her husband on the trip home, Lexa’s mother found herself glancing at her daughter and wife, oddly hopeful for the first time in a few years.

* * *

She waited. As the minutes ticked by and the night grew darker, Lexa waited. The bed was still, though she played with her wife’s hair and continued to read through the paperwork that was left from her day. There was an ulterior motive to the late hour. 

While Clarke slept, draped across her hip, while Lexa twirled blonde curls around her finger, the day of their divorce crept closer. 

The apartment was a gift. One that Lexa didn’t want to accept, but when Clarke got the job and decided to make a go of it, to make the move, Lexa swallowed her pride, attended a dinner with her parents, and said thank you. It was mostly terrible, except for the fact that it made moments like this possible. 

With a small yawn, Lexa rubbed her eyes and closed the packet. Her father wasn’t going easy on her with the work, though something her mother had said must have softened him somewhat. 

“Hey,” Lexa smiled, noticing the time on the clock by the bed. 

“Hmm,” Clarke complained burrowing her cheek deeper into Lexa’s shirt. 

“We can get a divorce today.” 

“Hush.” 

“Six months ago you plied me with tequila and proposed.” 

“What a ride it’s been.” 

“Are you awake?” Lexa asked, turning off the light and burrowing into the bed. Her wife growled again, adjusting to the new position. “I love you.” 

“You… what?” Clarke squinted in the dark, lifting her head. 

“I… I love. You. I love you,” Lexa muttered, more thoughtful that she would have liked, but still, she blurted it again. 

“I guess we can go another six months.” 

“Just to see how it goes.” 

“Yeah,” Clarke smiled in the dark, slipping her hand under her wife’s shirt and finding some warmth.


	3. Chapter 3

Sundays were sacred days. The best days of the week, in their own opinion, when the rest of the world disappeared, when absolutely nothing had to happen. Both were careful not to fill the day with anything at all. It remained their own, remained lazy and quiet and still, and it seemed to work.

Fridays came with drinks with friends, or parties, or travel, or dates. Saturdays were booked with a perpetual visit with Lexa’s family at some point, as well as finishing up work and preparing for the week. None of which was conducive to detaching or simply being alive.

But on Sunday, the sun slipped in through the blinds, leaving warm lines across the big bed, and yet the rays only covered a single inhabitant. Sundays were spent in bed, arguing over sleep and coffee and never leaving the safety of the little universe concocted for themselves. It was a rarity for one to be missing.

More and more though, it was becoming normal. Just like late hours and half-finished dinners. Something was changing, and for some reason a rut was found and trapped them. Life happened, and the sacred things changed, altered.

In the kitchen, Clarke put the finishing touches on breakfast. She sucked her thumb when she cut it a little deep, and she munched a piece of melon while the radio played quietly. It’d been a long week, she realized when she rolled over and found Lexa with a stack of work in bed with her. For the first time in their very short marriage, she felt very far away from her wife.

Marriage was hard. Clarke learned it almost every day, while simultaneously falling deeper and deeper in love with the stubborn girl who liked to surprise her with flowers. But lately, the past month, she felt it grow even more difficult, felt Lexa pull away slight, and she wasn’t exactly sure why it was happening.

“Hey,” Lexa’s sleepy voice rasped as she squinted against the morning.

Wearing just an old t-shirt, half of it raised above her hip, showing thin bits of lace. She stretched, rolled her shoulders, pushed around the absolute mess of hair that was still singed in sleep.

Clarke hadn’t meant to, originally, but she fell in love with her, the girl she accidentally married. The first two months, she fought it, before she got to know the sleepy thing who loved to sleep naked and drank too much coffee.

“You were out.”

“I slept too good. How long have you been up?” There it was. That floppy, sleepy grin as she took a seat.

“Not long. Thought you might need a good breakfast. I heard wives do that sometimes.”

A plate made its way in front of the newest arrival.

“Where did you hear that? Is there a book? Should I read it?”

“There’s a club, actually,” Clarke grinned as she kissed her wife’s forehead. “We get a newsletter.”

“This looks amazing. Thank you.”

She didn’t look much at the plate though. Instead, she tugged the artist into her lap, kissed her shoulder and neck. Arms wrapped around her waist and she smiled to herself at the feeling of warmth that radiated from her body.

“I just have to head into work for a few hours,” Lexa explained.

“Of course you do.”

“Hey.”

“What?”

“Nothing,” Clarke shrugged.

There was the turn. The fight that had been simmering for the past month. Lexa felt it as soon as Clarke stood up and went tense. She didn’t know how to really do anything else, she didn’t know how to stop it. Like a train on the tracks, it was happening no matter what.

“I have to finish those reports or my dad is going to have my head,” she tried, to no avail.

“When I met you, you didn’t even want to work for your family.”

“Things… change.”

“Yeah. I guess.”

Lexa felt her jaw tighten and her appetite disappear. But still, she looked down at her plate and took a bite of toast because Clarke made it and because she was already going to lose one battle today. On the other side of the large kitchen her father bought for her, she watched Clarke shove dishes into the sink.

“This is really good,” Lexa tried. “Thank you.”

“Sundays are supposed to be our days. We had a deal.”

“I’ll be home by two.”

“Okay.”

There were many things kept quiet in that room. Clarke gave up and sighed, making her way into the bedroom. The food was heavy, but Lexa ate the rest because she was married and that seemed like the kind of thing that one did in a marriage.

By the time she finished, she heard the shower turn off. Nervously, she made her way back into the bedroom because as much as it hurt, that seemed like the kind of thing one did in a marriage. She did have work to do, and she did want to keep up the relationship with her father, but the entire schedule was exhausting and she felt the doldrum of her life that she once tried to escape slowly encompass her.

And then there was Clarke.

“Are you mad at me?”

“I’m just… I don’t know,” Clarke shrugged as she rubbed lotion on her shoulders. “I don’t know what’s happening to us.”

“It’s just one weekend.”

“It’s every weekend,” she huffed. “It’s every weekend, and late nights, and I just… You’re not happy with it, and I don’t know what to do for you, for us.”

“I’m happy when I’m near you,” Lexa offered, making her way around the bed.

“Eighteen months, and now it’s like… I don’t know.”

“I know. Hey,” she smiled slightly, holding her wife’s hips. She leaned her chin on her shoulder before kissing her neck. “It’s been a crazy eighteen months, but I’m crazy happy. Much happier than I could have imagined.”

“You don’t show it.”

Clarke turned around in those arms, and she felt hips press into her own. Through the towel, she felt thumbs rubbing against her ribs, but all she really saw was those eyes that still made her heart do a little dance. 

“I’ve never been one to express myself well, but thank you for breakfast.”

“Lexa, I don’t want to fight. I just. I miss the girl who was very lost and at peace with it.”

Hands soothed her worried collarbones. Fingertips toyed with the frayed edge of the old shirt that was habitually soft and well-worn. They were in well over their heads, and both of them knew it.

“Me too,” she confessed with a sad grin before letting her head nudge forward to rest on Clarke’s.

Hands soothed her tense cheeks. Fingertips fiddled with the tiny curls near her ears. It was in those tiny ways that Lexa found the biggest truths of love.

She wanted to say more, but she couldn’t. So she kissed her. Lexa held onto Clarke’s hips tighter and she kissed her. There was nothing soft about it. There was all of the words she had right there in her mouth and she swallowed them in favor of kissing the girl that moved across the country for her and liked to sneak up to the roof of their building with a blanket and huddle together to watch movies on her phone.

The towel fell at some point. Her shirt joined it quickly, without giving it a chance to be lonely for long. Hair still damp, though much more dry, Clarke let herself be enveloped by Lexa’s messy mane as she straddled her on the still unmade bed. It was what Sundays were made of, in her opinion. Lips under her chin and hands everywhere.

“You’re so damn beautiful,” Lexa whispered, smoothing Clarke’s hair, before kissing her once again. “I can’t believe you agreed to marry me.”

“It was the tequila,” Clarke giggled as hands grew a little more needy.

“And my charm.”

“If by charm you mean ass.”

“Mrs. Woods!” Lexa popped up, faux-shocked at the vulgarity. “I can’t believe you said that.”

“But I stayed married with you because of the charm,” Clarke amended, tugging her closer.

“If you’re talking about my-”

“Shut up and remind me why I didn’t ask for an annulment.”

Wicked grin sprouting, Lexa wiggled her eyebrows deviously, all for show, all the personality that Clarke found enchanting and all-encompassing. It was impossible to not be in love with a girl like Lexa. It wasn’t even her charm or her charm, but rather this violent collection of raw feelings and wit and how she experienced the world like an exposed bit of skin.

“Are you still mad at me?”

“I’m never mad at you for long.”

“I’ll be home by two.”

“Lexa, seriously!” Clarke groaned as her wife pushed herself out of bed.

As soon as she stood, she laughed and hopped back in.

“Kidding,” she chuckled. “Like I could ever leave all of this,” she looked down at the naked girl in her bed. “In favor of work.”

“Good. That might be the day we have a problem.”

“I’ll be an hour late,” she shrugged.

Before Clarke could argue, she moaned at the contact of Lexa’s lips and her fingers and her body and she forgot that anger could even exist in her being. She knew there’d be a mark on her neck and chest and she didn’t care at all. She welcomed it.

* * *

Her office was a prison.

For three weeks Lexa felt like she was in solitary confinement, given only an hour per day to escape and breathe real air in the real world. Before it was too late, she realized that her father had sucked her in once again. She was already drowning and swallowing water before she could think of calling out for a life vest.

The itchiness of a life sentence choked her collar, made her nervous, but she was stuck, and she didn’t know what else to do. All of the plates were spinning, and she wasn’t sure which one was supposed to drop. To have a relationship with her father, she had to work and live his life. To have a life that she wanted, she had to leave. To have Clarke, she just had to be honest about it all, and that was perhaps the scariest one of all. Clarke wobbled the most, and Lexa felt it, finding it safer to be at work sometimes.

Long as her day was, Lexa finally shrugged on her coat and left the mess on her desk in favor of her warm bed and the girl that would be waiting with that tiramisu she liked from dinner with her friends downtown. Clarke would be mildly wine tipsy and very handsy, and Lexa was so damn eager for that, she got a renewed skip in her step as she made her way back toward their apartment.

“Hey! Babe! I’m home,” she called as she hung up her coat. “I know I’m late, but you should have seen the schedule my dad was doing for the roll out.”

Slowly, Lexa rolled her neck and made her way to their bedroom, the singular light on in the place.

“He’s going to kill me for not getting all of the–” The second she turned the corner, her words paused and her brow furrowed at the sight that she discovered. “What are you doing?”

“I thought you wouldn’t be home until later,” Clarke sighed, unable to look up as she put clothes in her suitcase.

“So you… were just going to leave?” Lexa swallowed, aghast.

“Just for a night or two, to get my head straight.”

“Seriously?”

“What other choice do I have, Lex? I’m… I thought you were different. That this was different.”

“Because I work hard?”

“Don’t. Don’t lie to me. You know why I feel like this.”

She liked it better when her wife didn’t look at her. That made her feel like she had some power in the situation. But to get the full force of wrathful, angry eyes that she was so deeply in love with and desperately afraid of, that was enough.

“I don’t want to fight,” Lexa finally tried.

“I don’t either. But I think we have to eventually. It’s not something we can put off.”

“We can try,” she smiled weakly.

“You think I’m the bad guy, who keeps pushing, who wants too much, but I just… I don’t know.”

“I don’t think that.”

“You’re never here. I don’t like it. I don’t want this. It’s been months,” Clarke shrugged, afraid of her words. “And we’re stuck.”

“I’m trying.”

“I am too.”

Stuck there, Lexa leaned against the door and furrowed. She wrapped her arms around herself to protect her chest from that ache, that dull kind of throbbing that started at her very core.

“Is this just about work? Because I’ll work less. I’ll figure something out–”

“I don’t care if you work a lot, if it’s something you’re passionate about. Or if there’s an end in sight. I’ve only ever wanted you to be happy. You just seem so… not.”

“I should be happy. I can’t… I mean. I’m not used to working– I want to try. What I mean is–”

“Lex, come on. You’re lost in all of it.”

“I’m not. I have it under control.”

“Do you even know what tomorrow is?” Clarke scoffed. The hurt on her face grew when she saw that Lexa didn’t even register it. By the time Lexa remembered, Clarke zipped her bag.

“No. Wait. I can fix this,” Lexa hurried. “I’m sorry. I forgot. I just got so wrapped up in what my dad needed.”

“When I met you, you were broke, living in a shitty apartment, trying to figure it out, and I feel so in love with that girl,” she shook her head and dropped her bag to the ground. “I fell in love with you, Lexa. Because you were funny and sweet and silly and you just… you were so alive, it was contagious.”

The words hurt. The words felt like they described someone who existed a long, long time ago, in a different life. The words made her bitter and made her mouth taste like a battery.

“I grew up,” she snapped. “Being… thinking that I could just… figure things out. That doesn’t pay the bills, Clarke. And I have a wife, and a family like my family who gives things. Do you think this apartment that you love comes for free? Do you think the trips and the dinners and everything else is just my parents being nice?” Lexa laughed at the ludicrousy of that thought. “I pay for this life for us by being exactly what my father wanted all along, because I love you, and you deserve it. I want ot be someone that provides a good life for the person they love.”

“Are you… Lexa, what do you mean?”

“So I get your whole trying to save me thing, but I don’t need saving. I knew what I signed up for when I accepted that office. And I can’t get out of it.”

“That’s why you can’t look at me. I cost you too much.”

“I look at you all of the time,” Lexa shook her head, looking down at her feet finally. “I just can’t look at myself.”

“You think I care about where we live?” Clarke argued. “I literally fell in love with you in that little apartment where we couldn’t both be standing at once. How could you think I’d want you to change for me?”

“I don’t know, okay. Maybe. Just. Maybe they were all right,” she threw up her hands. “Maybe this was wrong, and we’re different people, and we should cut our loses.”

“What?”

The silence settled there in the night, with all of the words they should have said months ago floating to the ground slowly, blanketing the room in a kind of timeless worry that nestled itself into their bones when they realized what they were saying.

Clarke was the first to move. Lexa didn’t have it in her to say anything else, so instead, she just hung her head as the blonde drifted past her toward the kitchen.

“We don’t need it,” Clarke finally said from the end of the hall. She wrestled with her key ring and tossed one down on the ground. “I don’t need this apartment. Do you like working for your dad?”

“It’s not that simple.”

“You told me once that nothing else mattered. You watched your brother die, and now you were trying to be alive. I fell so damn hard for the girl that was passionate about life. I want her back. I want you, Lexa.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“Why not?” Clarke yelled, tossing her head back and annoyed with it all. “Why isn’t it that simple? It was easy enough to get married, and now we’re working at it.”

“You were ready to leave!”

“To clear my head!”

“I don’t want to be this person!” Lexa barked back. “I don’t want to fight with you, and I don’t want to be someone who can’t be happy.”

“What do you need from me then?” Clarke fired.

“I… I…” she stumbled before snapping her mouth shut.

Ornery and angry, Clarke stood at the end of the hall with her hands on her hips, fighting and ready and so damn stubborn, Lexa couldn’t help but stare. Two years, they’d been married. Two years, and Lexa knew it was all she wanted for the rest of her life.

“Do you want to work for your dad?” she asked again.

“No.”

“Okay, done.”

“Clarke.”

“Take it back now,” she demanded. “Take it back. Take back that they were right and we won’t make it. Because you don’t believe it and either do I.”

“I take it back.”

“Good, okay,” Clarke nodded. “I’m going to stay at the hotel. You figure out what you need.”

“Wait, why are you still leaving?”

“Because, you need time, and I need space, and… I just. I’m still really pissed you forgot our anniversary,” she shrugged, quite honest, earning a smile.

“Do you want a divorce?”

“Shut up.”

“I mean it.”

The words were honest, not like their usual joking, throwing that word around to mock everyone else who didn’t believe. For the briefest of moments, Lexa felt like the answer might have been yes finally, and it was the scariest thing she’d ever asked.

“I don’t ever want to lose you,” Clarke whispered. Tentatively she approached the rooted girl by the door. “It scares the absolute hell out of me to feel like I am.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“The past few months, you’ve been gone,” she corrected. “You’ve been here, but you’ve been gone, and I don’t ever want to feel that. It’s terrifying.”

“I can imagine,” Lexa nodded, relaxing slightly when a hand rested on her forearm. She shifted the weight on her feet and clenched her jaw. “I’ve been trying to do what’s best for us.”

“You don’t get to decide that at the cost of yourself.”

“I was willing.”

“I know,” Clarke hummed, leaning her forehead onto her wife’s. “As much of a paradox as it is. That’s why I love you so much.”

Lexa closed her eyes and felt fingers move to her neck. The weight of a palm on her arm was comforting, like a solid weight that kept her rooted and present.

“Please don’t go anywhere,” she mumbled. “I want to be near my wife on our anniversary.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

Only then did Lexa hug her wife, slipping her arms around her waist and digging her nose into her shoulder. Eyes still shut, she inhaled deeply and held it for an extra beat, just to be sure. Her arms wrapped tighter, just to be sure.

“I’m sorry I was going to leave,” Clarke whispered.

“I’m sorry I’ve been off.”

“I just want you happy. When you’re happy, I swear, it’s like… It’s like magic. The world is different. I would kill to make sure you were happy like that, Lexa.”

“I know.”

“Good.”

“So I’m jobless again.”

“Perfect. Take me back to your studio over the tailor shop,” Clarke chuckled.

“Do you think we’ll make it?”

“I’ve never doubted it.”

* * *

Despite the body in her bed, Lexa found herself pacing in the dining room as she drafted a letter of resignation. Already, she felt lighter. Already, the world was different, and the shackles of her expectations were loosened.

Once that was finished, she moved onto the real task at hand– making up for missing an anniversary. Not only missing one. Having a fight on one. She could figure out the rest of her life quite easily once she figured out the rest.

The phone call to her parents went well enough, as she got to talk to her mother and avoid all notions of work. The one to Clarke’s family went better.

After spending a good chunk of the night talking, Lexa wasn’t surprised that Clarke slept late into the morning. She did, however, marvel at her own ability to get everything finished and planned in that time.

Hopped up on her own amazement at her own skills, she slid back into the bed and ran her fingers along her wife’s cheeks, pushing hair from her face, earning asquint and Clarke hiding into the pillows. This was it, Lexa thought to herself. This is the girl I married.

“Thanks for getting drunk and marrying me two years ago,” she cooed, digging her nose into Clarke’s neck, earning a growl and yawn.

“Anytime.”

Hands moved to her own hips as a leg slid between her own, but Clarke was in no mood for waking or the such. Instead, she rooted in her wife’s chest, yawning again and hiding under her chin.

Lexa kissed her forehead and closed her own eyes, letting the morning relax her as well. Something about the way Clarke’s hands felt sliding up and down her back was enough of a reward for her planning.

“I have something planned for you,” Lexa whispered.

“I hope we can do it in bed, because I don’t want to leave.”

“Um… well. The jets gassed up whenever we’re ready.”

“Should I call work?” Clarke chuckled.

“Yes.”

“God, I missed you,” she mumbled, kissing neck and chest through the flimsy tshirt. Lexa laughed and tilted her chin up.

There was something about being in the middle of the bed, pressed ridiculously close to a pretty girl that just filled her heart with a renewed kind of life. When she watched her brother die, she became a connoisseur of moments. Good moments. She savored moments that felt very alive. If anything, life was split up into different important moment, and not many people knew that this was one of them.

“I’m right here.”

“You know what I mean,” she grumped. “You feel like… it hasn’t felt like this in a while.”

“Can you believe we got married before we dated?”

“High recommended. Ten out of ten.”

“I just mean I think…” Lexa hummed, adjusting her hips. Her hands migrated, completely of their own volition, slipping into her wife’s sweatpants. It was easier to talk about things when her hands were on Clarke’s ass. Something about perspective and such. “We’ll have bumps. But we could make it.”

“We’re going to,” she promised. “Now, what do you have planned?”

“Surprise.”

“What do you have planned with those hands down my pants?’

“Surprise,” she grinned and went about the task of showing.

* * *

“But are you sure?”

“Bell…” Clarke groaned and rolled her eyes before smoothing her dress in the mirror and shaking her head.

“I think it’s my job to check at least once,” he defended himself weakly. “I didn’t get the chance last time.”

“This is the final time.”

The dress was everything she’d ever wanted, though she’d never been able to imagine such a thing. The first time around was a blur and she was wearing a much too short dress from the bachelor party. This time, Lexa let her do it right.

At first, it felt silly, and a bit frivolous, to have another wedding, but after the proposal, the proper one by the fountain where they first met on their weekend away to reacquaint, Clarke understood that maybe a fresh start was needed, for both of them, after the battle ground that was the past few months.

The small church downtown was ancient, and it was perfect for the rainy day that came. Undeterred by the weather, both brides prepared for the big day, oddly nervous despite already being married for over two years. Two years and six months, to be exact. To commemorate the day they decided to be married, as opposed to when they fell into it.

“You look amazing,” Bellamy smiled softly from across the room. “Stunning. She isn’t going to be able to fall in love soon enough.”

“I can’t believe this happened,” Clarke smiled and shook her head.

“I’ve seen the two of you together, and it’s perfect. You’re going to be very happy.”

“I can’t imagine being happier.”

“Let’s go get you married again,” he grinned, extending his arm for her to hold. “Hopefully this time you’ll remember it better.”

“Get married once when you’re drunk and you never hear the end of it.”

Adjusting his tie for him, she took a deep breath before grabbing the bouquet.

Six months ago, it all seemed impossible. Twenty-four hours ago, it felt unattainable. But she had it all. The new ring glittered on her finger, making her smile in a new way, while her wife excitedly gazed through the window as the car wove along the seaside cliffs.

“This place is gorgeous, Lex,” Clarke hummed, squeezing the driver’s hand a little tighter. “How did you find it?”

“Death tour.”

“You came here with your brother?” It was probably one of the few things that would force Clarke to take her eyes off of the scenery of the crystal clear water below and the beautiful fluffy clouds that marched along.

“For a little. And we bought this little cabin on the beach and decided to spend as much time here as possible. He made me promise,” she sighed and then smiled. “I think we were very drunk, but he told me to bring my kids here for the summer and to run away when I needed it. It was the last thing he ever gave me.”

“Thank you for bringing me.”

Clarke kissed her hand and smiled as she settled deeper into the seat of the rental. Twelve hours ago they were getting married. Five hours ago, they boarded a plane.

“I didn’t get to bring Wife Number One. Figured I might as well as give Wife Number Two a go at it.”

“That’s still not a funny joke.”

“I like it,” she chuckled.

“You do know that I’m still your first, and only wife, right?”

“I got married twice.”

“False, we had two ceremonies.”

“One and a half,” Lexa corrected mischievously. “I don’t remember much of the first.”

“This is what I got myself into again.”

“Damn straight.” She just earned a tongue stuck out at her, taking it as a victory.

The trips down to sea level was astounding. The early morning sunlight was glitter on the water. The small town they drove through was out of a dream, one that Lexa barely remembered but still chased.

There was no where else she ever wanted to escape, and there was no one else she wanted to be with at the moment.

The cabin at the end of the lane on a secluded patch of beach was bordered in the distance by another house on one side, though nothing else could be seen for a long, long ways. The hills were cliffs that sectioned them off from the rest of the town back behind them.

There wasn’t much to it, not entirely. Clarke squinted and held her hand as a shield from the sun to look at it. A single floor, wooden slats, a lone, lazy tree waving from the other side of the yard. It was quiet save for the sound of the waves.

“I know it’s not everything I promised you for a honeymoon,” Lexa mumbled, scratching her neck nervously as she saddled up beside her wife. “But I figured we could do the fancy hotel and European city next year. Thought we might need just a little… I don’t know. Quiet.”

“Beach and a bed and you? This is the honeymoon I’ve always wanted.”

“Yeah?”

“When have I ever cared about any of that stuff?” Clarke shook her head, turning to the girl she loved. “Who do you think I am?”

“Mrs. Woods,” she chuckled and wrapped her arms around the artist. “I just want to give you the best. It’s just this urge I have. Like a reflex.”

“I’m pretty easy.”

“Well, I already knew that,” Lexa grinned before picking up the wife, earning giggle and fighting in her arms.

“Put me down!”

“We have to cross the threshold.”

“You can’t keep saying that!”

The house was stuffy, full of dust and unused after many years, but the open door flushed it full of a new kind of life. The morning kind of breeze wafted through, rustling the curtains, sifting a bit of the dust.

“Okay, we’re past the threshold!” Clarke reminded Lexa as they quickly moved down the hall, the door left open for no one to notice.

The bed didn’t have any sheets, but it didn’t stop her from tossing Clarke on it and kissing her neck amidst a sea of giggles and fake complaints.

* * *

**7 Years Later…**

“No no no no no,” Clarke backed away slightly as Lexa inched closer with that predatory smile.

Behind them, the beach hummed that steady rhythm. Later than then had anticipated arriving, the sun was gone, but the light remained, just that faint kind of glow in the sky that somehow captured a ridiculous amount of colors over the course of ten minutes.

It was harder to find free time, to escape, but Lexa knew, in the grand scheme of her marriage, she got to miss one anniversary, and she’d burned that card up way too early. But she booked the tickets, and she got the time off, because it became a running joke, an important date for them.

There were still days when Lexa woke up and felt exceedingly lucky to have somehow gotten drunk with her soulmate. There were even days when she woke up and reminded Clarke why it was a good idea to keep her around. Most importantly though, there was never a day that she ever questioned where her happiness was coming. Clarke made her search for it every day, helped her find it sometimes, helped her keep it, added to it, let it burn her up and shared it with everyone.

But things changed when she quit working for her father. At first for bad, and then it got better. It as another rough two years when it came to her family, but it was different a few months ago.

“Not this again, Lex,” Clarke held out her hands and shut the car door.

“But you’re my wife,” Lexa reminded her. “I have to carry you across the threshold.”

“I thought we were over this,” she laughed as she was caught up in arms and heaved up. “It’s been five years!”

“I’ll never be over you agreeing to marry me.”

“I’m heavy!”

“You’re not.”

The door squealed slightly to the cabin as Lexa opened it with the toe of her shoe and fiddled with the lock in one hand. The same kind of stagnant met them as they made it in, though it was not as severe as the first year.

Before, there were only memories of her brother, but just a week every so often, and Clarke infected every inch of it. There was the thought of her reading on the couch with the big doors opened to the beach. There was dinner on the porch with lots of wine that lasted until the stars were out. There were nights that didn’t end and the breeze from the sea that blanketed the bed. It was both of them, everywhere.

“I’m an incubator. I’m heavy.”

“You’re not,” Lexa insisted. “Five months isn’t that far along.”

“Ugh, I’m gross and pregnant and we should have waited until after our anniversary,” Clarke whined as she found herself on a familiar, unmade bed.

“And then we’d have to wait to meet our little gum drop. No way. You’re not even that pregnant.”

Lexa kissed her wife’s chest, kissed down her ribs, kissed the protrusion of belly. The truth was, seeing the stomach grow was absolutely mesmerizing, and exceptionally spectacular. It was like looking at something miraculous and being surprised every time.

The girl who got drunk and married her, kept her, helped her make her happy and healthy and pushed her to be better. She couldn’t imagine a second of her life without Clarke, and she barely remembered what it was like or who she was before that night five years ago.

“I’m huge,” Clarke sighed.

“You, Mrs. Woods, are not a pound over the day I met you.”

“Oh goodness do you think I was this big back then?” she giggled as kisses came to her neck once again.

“How are you not scared of this?”

“Of the baby?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, I can either worry about it, or I can make my wife come. It’s up to you,” she grinned.

“My wife, ladies and gentlemen,” Clarke gestured to the imaginary audience in the form of the cozy bedroom.

“I love you,” she whispered, kissing the baby belly once again.

“Want to stay married to me for another year?”

“At least.”


End file.
